


Brighter Than the Sun

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Carnival, Ferris Wheel, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment Darren had heard that Chris had never been to Santa Monica Pier, he’d nearly choked on his slice of pizza. After that, Chris didn’t dare mention all the things he hadn’t done—things that, according to Darren, people have to do when they live in California.</p><p>Chris had tried to talk him out of it—it’s a tourist trap in Southern California, so overpriced that it’s simply not worth it, but Darren had been absolutely insistent.</p><p>“Have you ever been to a pier or a boardwalk in your whole life?”</p><p>And, well, no. Chris hadn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brighter Than the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday present for Dani kissedmequiteinsane on tumblr, and based on [this gifset](http://kissedmequiteinsane.tumblr.com/post/41738604624).

It’s hot. Even with the sun hanging lower in the sky, and the marine layer clinging desperately to the shore, it’s hot. The heat boils on Chris’s bare arms, and he rubs at them, hoping he doesn’t burn. Darren, with all his gleeful smiles and beach bum attitude, doesn’t seem to have a spare thought to waste on the sun or the heat or the way Chris skin turns pink and then red. No, his fingers lace firmly through Chris’s and then he’s pulling him through the paved parking lot and towards the transition into planked flooring.

The moment Darren had heard that Chris had never been to Santa Monica Pier, he’d nearly choked on his slice of pizza. After that, Chris didn’t dare mention all the things he hadn’t done—things that, according to Darren, people  _have_  to do when they live in California.

Chris had tried to talk him out of it—it’s a tourist trap in Southern California, so overpriced that it’s simply not  _worth_  it, but Darren had been absolutely insistent.

“Have you ever been to a pier or a boardwalk in your whole life?”

And, well,  _no_. Chris hadn’t.

That had been the loss of that argument.

There’s a roller coaster that doesn’t look very safe, whooshing around above them even though it’s only filled to half it’s capacity. The ferris wheel rotates, empty as far as Chris can tell, the focal point of everything else on the pier. He shields his eyes with his free hand as they approach, feeling a beat of excitement quicken his pulse. It feels silly, but he’s still excited. He didn’t get to do these things before, didn’t have people to do it  _with_ , and now he has  _Darren_ —

Who, rather than make a beeline straight for the ride, dodges into a building. It’s cooler, but sort of muggy, and a big room that serves to house only one thing.

“A carousel?” Chris asks, eyebrows furrowed, as he turns to look at Darren skeptically. Because when Chris thinks about piers, he thinks of… Well, all the attractions he saw.  _Carousel_  genuinely isn’t the first thing his head jumps to.

“It was built on the pier in the 1920s,” Darren tells him, leading him into the building. “All of the horses are hand carved.” His smile is giddy when he looks back at Chris. “We can’t come here and  _not_  ride the carousel.”

Chris knows the first few bits are for him—he loves knowing things like that, learning about the things he’s touching and seeing. He wonders how much Darren knew on his own, and how much he learned just for their date.

They pass old looking, wooden paneled machines as they approach the line—the carousel doesn’t look as old as Darren said it was, but it’s still rather pretty. The building itself is gorgeous, with large windows letting in the sunshine. Chris runs the palm of his hand over the low railing that fences in the merry-go-round, and then he hears Darren say, “two.”

There’s hardly anyone else there—a few children, already settling on horses, and Darren bouncing on his toes as if choosing a painted wooden horse is the biggest decision they’ll make all day.

“Okay, you pick,” Darren says to him, eyebrows high, and Chris can’t help but smile. After all, Darren is letting him pick the horses they ride—it’s a pretty big deal.

Chris’s horse is grey and speckled, and Darren’s is black. Darren insists they wear the lap restraints, even though Chris knows there’s no danger of falling off. He leans against the faux-gold pole, twisting up towards the supports of the carousel, watching as Darren makes faces in the mirrors that reflect the carousel back at them from the inside.

“Having fun?” Darren asks, staring at Chris through the mirror first before turning to look at him. They’ve hardly started, but then Darren is linking their fingers loosely together where their hands are hanging between them as the horses start to move up and down and the carousel starts to rotate.

Chris smiles.

“Yeah.”

*

“Games or rides?” Darren asks as they stroll past the shops stuffed with cheesy shirts and carts displaying sunglasses and jewelry. Chris looks at them curiously for a moment, breathes in the overpowering scent of hotdogs and the sharp scent of the ocean, and then looks back at Darren.

“Rides,” Chris decides—real rides, even though there isn’t really anything on the boardwalk making his stomach twist the way it does when he sees a  _real_  roller coaster.

Well, except Darren.

Even though Chris knows they probably won’t go on more than two or three things, Darren  _insists_  on the all-day wristbands. Even though they’re made of neon colored paper and Chris can already see the tan-line in his future.

They do the roller coaster first. It doesn’t look scary, and it isn’t very long and doesn’t do anything like go upside-down. It’s the kind of roller coaster Chris used to enjoy a lot when he was younger, and not exactly tall enough to ride anything that actually made his stomach drop out the way he loves.

But, when they’re seated snugly in the last row of the back car, and the coaster jerks into motion, Chris realizes it isn’t about the thrill of the ride. There are little kids screaming, and seagulls calling, and all he can see forever is the Pacific Ocean, sunlight glinting off its waves.

“Crazy, huh?” Darren yells, and Chris laughs, pulled from the moment and shooting him a grin. He has his arms thrown in the air, even with how tame the ride is, and let’s out a loud, whooping scream as they twist back around the park and their scenery changes to the pristine buildings of downtown Santa Monica.

They ride the  _Sea Dragon_  pirate ship ride, which turns out to be scarier than the roller coaster but still just as fun. Darren tugs them onto bumper cars and spends most of the time ramming into Chris until they’re both breathless with laughter.

“Ferris wheel?” Chris asks as they walk back into the sunlight—it’s nearly noon, and it’s even hotter now. Darren takes his hand as soon as they come to a stop, and Chris glances down at their laced fingers shyly.

“No.”

They meet eyes again.

“The ferris wheel is for later,” Darren says cryptically, the glint in his eyes letting on exactly how mysterious he knows he’s being. But Chris just rolls his eyes. “Besides, I’m hungry as—” A large group of kids runs past them, and Darren swallows his words. “I’m hungry,” he finishes.

“Good, I’ve wanted a hotdog since like two hours ago.”

“I bet you did,” Darren murmurs suggestively, and Chris whacks his shoulder.

*

It’s after snow cones that Darren leads them over to the midway games. Chris gives him a long-suffering look.

“You know these are rigged, right?” He asks, as Darren eyes a game that involves throwing a ball into an array of colored cups.

“But they’re part of the experience.” He tugs Chris over to it. “Besides, I want to win you something.”

Chris grins—he can’t help it, or the warmth that floods through him as Darren pulls out his wallet and hands over his money. There isn’t even anything he’s seen that he particularly wants—there’s giant, coiled snakes with ridiculous faces and funky looking aliens.

“Which one do you want?” Darren asks, eyes bright, and Chris bites his lip.

“Surprise me,” he says, because it really doesn’t matter what it is—or even if there is a thing in the end, really. Chris has never had a boy try to win him something before.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have his heart set on it, too, because each of Darren’s shots miss and he ends up with a stuffed soccer ball that he spends a good five minutes frowning at.

“Darren, it’s—”

“No, let’s try another one.”

So they do. They try basketball and knocking over stacked bottles and throwing darts at balloons. Darren manages to win Chris a cat that’s hardly big enough to hold in the crook of his elbow. Chris actually sort of loves it—it’s blue, which is kind of weird but also endearing, and is soft despite the shoddy quality these prizes usually are.

Darren, however, is upset.

“One more,” he says, and the sun is sinking lower now, heading into late afternoon, but Chris acquiesces. They head to the water pistol game, where a few teenagers are waiting to start.

“You play, too,” Darren insists. “The more people who play the better the prize.”

The prizes range from a giant stuffed Kirby (which is, okay, pretty adorable) to medium stuffed purple gorillas. Darren’s eyes keep flitting to a Super Grover.

So, when Chris wins (he’s competitive, he can’t help it, and really, it’s almost all luck anyway), he picks the Grover and hands it to Darren.

“But—” Darren holds it loosely, and then looks at him, frowning. “I was supposed to win  _you_  something.”

“And you did.” Chris holds up the cat, which he has already mentally started calling  _George_. “…no one’s ever won something for me before,” Chris admits, holding the stuffed toy close to his side. Darren stares at his own prize, the one  _Chris_  won him, and then smiles softly back at Chris.

“No one’s ever won me something, either.”

*

They don’t do the ferris wheel yet. Darren insists on ice cream, even though they already had snow cones, and then they walk further down the boardwalk—past the rides, and attractions, to where local artists are set up in chairs and roll-away tables and performers are standing with nothing but their instruments and a hat for tips.

“It’s like a mini-Venice,” Darren says, as they stop to listen to a girl play  _Surfin’ USA_ on her violin. “I used to do this.”

“I’m not that surprised.” Because Darren plays music anywhere, and imagining him here, barefeet and loose curls and nothing but his guitar—Chris can see it, and can see how happy he’d be doing it.

“We should get your name painted.” Darren is already tugging him towards one of the artists, and Chris laughs.

“Why do I need  _that?_ ”

“Um, because it’s awesome? Look! This guy makes his C’s out of dolphins!”

They don’t get Chris’s name painted, but they do stop and watch as a man paints out the shoreline on a rectangle of glass with just his fingers. Darren’s so captivated that he  _has_  to buy it, waxing poetic about how all the tiny little details—the light on the water, the curve of a dolphin’s fin, the lights on the boardwalk, all painted with the human hand.

The end of the pier is populated mostly by fisherman, but they still walk all the way to the end, until the only thing Chris see’s is  _blue_. The murky, dark water of the ocean, stretching out and becoming brighter, until it forms a seam with the sky.

He’s never really understood why the ocean was so hypnotizing. It’s just water, really. It’s not like he looks at a pool and goes silent in awe at it’s beauty. But there’s something about the ocean—big, vast, seemingly endless—that makes his words run dry and yet sparks a million new ones.

“Thanks,” he finds himself saying, as they lean against the wooden guardrails, and Darren turns to look at him, scooting closer until their shoulders touch. Chris has the urge to lean into him, tuck his head into the smooth, perfect curve of Darren’s neck, but he doesn’t.

“You’re welcome, but what exactly are you thanking me for?”

Chris laughs, once, high and short, and does touch his forehead to Darren’s shoulder then.

“Thanks for today,” he whispers.

“Oh.” Darren shifts, and then his arm is wrapping around Chris—his hand curls around Chris’s bicep, pulling him closer, and then falls to rest at Chris’s waist. “Then you’re extra welcome.”

*

It didn’t seem like they could spend that much time there, but they do. Chris doesn’t know how he forgets how quickly things go with Darren, but he always does. They spend most of the day not doing  _anything_ , surrounded by music and people and laughter. They stand and they talk, about everything and nothing, and they eat too much food—they share cotton candy, and Darren randomly buys Chris a churro, and he’s really glad they went on the roller coaster first because he’s sure he’d throw up even though he’s been on scarier car rides.

They spend too much time in the arcade playing ski-ball and failing at DDR, pooling their pathetic amount of tickets to cash in for two plastic rings that look like tiaras—so small, they both wear them around their pinky fingers.

Chris doesn’t want it to end. It’s ridiculous, because they don’t live far away, but there’s something about that whole day with Darren that feels simply magical. His feet ache, and he’s exhausted, and he hopes Darren will stay and not-watch a movie with him once they leave.

Really, Chris forgets all about the ferris wheel.

“One last thing,” Darren is saying, leading him back through the park. It’s less crowded than it was a few hours ago, even though it’s now lit up with thousands of brightly colored lights. It shouldn’t be as dazzling as it is.

They go to the ferris wheel, everything drenched in long shadows as the sun goes lower and lower, the carriage rocking as they sit down. It’s round, and it’s probably a better idea to sit across from each other—but Darren sits next to him, snug against his side, and their carriage dips down to one side.

The ride is surprisingly full of people, and they stop rather frequently as more get on and off. They’re near the top when Darren grabs his hands, and Chris looks at him curiously.

“This is why we waited,” he tells him, and Chris blinks in confusion, before he turns to look past Darren.

Because the sun is setting. The sky is orange and purple and pink and blue, the sun sinking steadily lower, dying the water a deep indigo. It’s… Breathtaking, unlike anything Chris has ever seen in his life, added to by the fact that the lower the sun sinks, the brighter the lights of the boardwalk glare in return.

“It’s…” Chris looks back at Darren, at the way the colors tint his skin, and everything about the moment is beautiful. He’s touching Darren’s cheek before he thinks about it, skimming the backs of his fingers across a day’s worth of stubble before curling around Darren’s jaw. “It’s perfect.”

Darren grins, pleased and relieved looking.

“Good. I really, really wanted it to be.”

“You try too hard,” Chris teases, because he knows that Darren doesn’t need to. He didn’t need a ferris wheel at sunset, or a stuffed cat, or  _any_  of today. And Darren gave it all to him, because that’s what Darren does. He makes everything special, even though it already is. Chris only needs Darren to be there for it to be special.

“I try just enough,” Darren whispers, and then he’s dipping in and kissing Chris, soft at first and then pressing harder. Chris slides his fingers back into Darren’s hair, letting himself be kissed. They don’t do this in public—because Chris hates feeling people’s eyes, and Darren hates making Chris uncomfortable. Even if there are so many times that Chris just wants to reach and take.

But he lets Darren take, and then he takes back himself. Chris revels in the light of the setting sun and the warm-soft glide of Darren’s lips and the  _thrum thrum thrum_  of his rabbit-quick heart.


End file.
